


Frankly, My Donkey...

by Freya_the_Snake_Slayer



Series: Modus Homerandi [7]
Category: Stargate - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy romance action, F/M, Family Feels, Firefly References, Gen, Plot Twists, Short One Shot, Star Wars References, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 19:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16373873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freya_the_Snake_Slayer/pseuds/Freya_the_Snake_Slayer
Summary: SG-1 are invited to an annual pygmy festival filled with bizarre rituals and odd delicacies (sort of..!) Brief nod to Star Wars and Firefly.





	Frankly, My Donkey...

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to those who've liked and commented on this series so far - you've made a fellow shipper very happy! Please keep an eye out - there's more to come in the near future. Freya x

He’d unwittingly stabbed an ass - an ass with body dysmorphia.

After decades of military service, he’d developed a sort of precognitive awareness, but the whirl of activity around him had made him feel so...discombobulated.

From out of nowhere, a blindfold had been slapped over his eyes and something sharp was thrust into his open palm. Before he’d had a chance to evaluate his situation, his body had been spun around and around and he was violently pushed into a wall. He’d extended his arm in an effort to break his fall and made contact with something unfamiliar.

The group of natives that had gathered around him had gasped and clapped in reverence. He’d removed the cover from his eyes and felt instantly appalled.

He'd conducted unsanctioned tail transplant surgery.

He’d leaned in closer and noticed several holes and hesitation marks on the animal. Apparently, he hadn’t been the only “fake physician” of the day.

He’d turned to confront the crowd and they’d seemed...happy! He'd felt a few hands make contact with his back - presumably in gratification, and one of the elder's had wordlessly handed him a token of appreciation. He'd opened the package to reveal a piece of advanced weaponry. He'd turned it over in his hands. The craftsmanship had been unfamiliar to him. It wasn’t of goa'uld or tok'ra design - they'd have never used such outlandish colours. Fluorescent purple and pink were hardly conducive to effective camouflage. He'd starred down the barrel of the firearm and noticed it was sealed over. He'd experimentally pulled the trigger and it'd come ablaze with flashing lights. The weapon seemed to have no function, unless the triggerman was expected to disorientate or hypnotise its enemy. He'd thrown the gift giver a puzzled expression, but was only offered a nod of encouragement in response.

He was left to wander the party aimlessly, with his new weapon safely holstered into his belt. He was desperately trying to piece together the events that had transpired, but he was still struggling to comprehend them. What kind of barbaric society was this - to torture an ass with a congenital deformity without consideration of the physical and psychological ramifications? He wasn’t even sure if the animal had been properly anaesthetised first - not to mention the unconventional operating environment and the complete lack of sterilised equipment. As far as he could tell, this tribe was not only lacking anaesthetic - but also a collective conscience!

When he’d accepted the invitation to attend the Festival of the 36th Moon, he’d never imagined witnessing anything so depraved. He considered himself to be a worldly man - a universal man, even - but he’d never experienced anything like this. Not once.

Although the ritual had shaken him to his core, he decided to chalk it up to a cultural misunderstanding. This improved his mood considerably, and he felt strong enough to continue taking in the sights and scenes of the shindig.

He slowly moved through the festival and made a conscious effort to admire the small details - the smiles on the faces of the natives, the coloured floating sacks of gas, the pygmies violently beating an ass to death with a ceremonial stick..?!

He stopped in his tracks. Were his eyes deceiving him? He took a tentative step forward. The pygmies were repeatedly pommelling an ass as it hung helplessly from a tree. He watched in horror as they administered blow after blow, until the skin split open. He felt the bile rise in his throat as they cheered in jubilation and dove on the spilled intestines with carnivorous fervour. The equidae’s entrails had a strange, sweet aroma, and seemed to be comprised of undersized fish and severed fingers. He could only assume the animal was forced to over-consume the items prior to death. He’d never seen anything so cruel.

He was beginning to find the behaviour of this tribe exceedingly confusing. From what he’d witnessed, the domesticated hoofed animal seemed to be of great cultural significance. However, based on their inhumane treatment of it, he couldn’t ascertain whether they revered or despised it.

He forced down the rising levels of concern brewing in his belly, and decided to try the local delicacies. He’d been told the pygmies had a polarising palate. He reached for one of the delicate morsels and brought it to his nose. It smelled like animal bi-product, but he wasn't familiar with the species. He gave it a lick - it tasted savoury. Sensing his uncertainty, one of the natives told him the name of the dish. Instead of easing his mind, it only heightened his anxiety. Why would they wrap an omnivorous snouted animal in a woollen covering prior to consumption? If the purpose was the comfort the even-toed ungulate, it was definitely a case of too little, too late - in his opinion!

He began to fear what he’d see next. He normally didn’t fear the unknown - fear had no place on the battlefields, but it was his companion today!

He turned a corner and almost lost his mammal meat. Without consultation, he’d found his leg tightly tethered to a young pygmy. His mind was swirling - what was the purpose of this custom? He looked at the other participants. In comparison, their limbs where somewhat... disproportionate. The prospect of having three legs seemed to excite the petite resident - and he hated to squelch the enthusiasm of the young. Although he had no knowledge of the custom, he could only see the disadvantages in having an extra appendage jointly operated by two distinct beings. He tried his best, but his tiny teammate had difficulties matching his pace. He thought he could carry his physically-challenged comrade across the line (as he would have in battle), but his chivalry was only met with disapproving groans and eye rolls from the natives.

He was trying to keep an open mind, but he could feel his hemispheres closing.

Before he could find his bearings, he was given the handle to a concave piece of stainless steel containing an ovum. One of the pygmies noticed the befuddled look on his face and told him to take the advice of the hair and move “slow and steady.” The recommendation was lost on him. He’d never encountered a fibrous protein capable of intelligent speech. He asked what the consequences would be if he broke the fragile husk, and was told he’d lose. Lose what, exactly - he wasn’t sure. It sounded so ominous! Was he responsible for sustaining this shelled life?

There was a loud bang and the other participants surged ahead. His heartbeat quickened. The expectations were too much! He couldn't handle the pressure! Ignoring the thunderous applause of the locals, he sped towards the sanctuary of the hut. In his haste to make a quick escape, he'd forgotten to dispose of the metal implement and embryo.

Upon reaching the shelter, he slumped against a wooden pillar and tried to align his chi. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface - he was scouring. He may have been dressed the part, but he wasn’t acting the part. It suddenly hit him - he was an assassin of amusement, a party defecator, a damp woollen comforter. He’d heard that every party had one, but he never thought it’d be him!

He needed an attitude adjustment! His inability to embrace this new experience could cause irreparable damage to his relationship with the hosts.

He vowed to make more of an effort. His new motto would be - what would Daniel Jackson do? - he’d immerse himself in the new culture, reserving all judgement!

His eyes passed over the fairground and fell on a cluster of pygmies sitting in a sphere. They were tossing a crudely wrapped package between them in sync to a musical soundtrack. The melody was being played in short bursts, and when it stopped - a layer of the package was being torn away by the pygmy in possession of it.

For the first time since he’d arrived, fear paved way for curiosity. He’d come to understand that opening another’s mail was a federal offence, but the natives didn’t seem to care. He found their anarchistic behaviour fascinating! He decided to join in their lawless game.

When he approached the circle, two of the pygmies shuffled aside to make room for him. He sat between them with his legs crossed. The bundle bounced between them with the beat, eliciting excited squeals and giggles from the participating pygmies. He watched as it passed from one, to another before landing squarely in his lap. As he reached for it, the music stopped. Twelve pairs of eyes fell on him as he ran a fingertip along the underside of the seam. A few of the pygmies scooted forward in anticipation. It was the last layer! A chorus of “what is it” rung out around the group. He peeled the paper back to reveal…

A giant bag of...he turned the packet over in this hands - nerds?? He’d heard O’Neill use the word on several occasions to describe Daniel Jackson and Captain/Major/Colonel Carter. He thought it was in reference to their love of science, not a sack of multi-coloured kernels. He opened the bag and offered the contents to his fellow competitors. Before he had the chance to brace himself, he was pounced on quicker than a goa'uld to a hok’tar. He managed to wriggle free - unable to wipe the smile from his face.

All this fun was making him hungry!   

He took in a deep breath and the scent of burning flesh flooded his nostrils. He twisted and turned his head in an attempt to triangulate the aroma. He turned on his heels and made his way towards the odour. He could see pillars of smoke billowing from a localised source. He paused - from where he stood, he could make out the silhouettes of the men in the tribe. He recognised two of them, standing in front of a ribbed surface sporadically rotating cylindrical lengths. He approached the pit.

"You're not putting beer on the meat, are you Jack?"

The retired Air Force General narrowed his eyes at the archaeologist. "No, Daniel. Give me some credit." His gaze shifted to the advancing body. “Hey, T!”

Daniel turned to face their friend and former colleague. “Hey, Teal’c! Are you having fun? I heard you won a few games - pin the tail on the donkey, pass the parcel and even the egg and spoon race.”

Teal’c bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Indeed. Once I decided to do as you would, I began to enjoy myself immensely.”

“Huh?”

“I did not wish to be the party defecator.”

Jack and Daniel exchanged a puzzled look, until an expression of understanding dawned on the bespectacled man’s face.

“Oh, you mean a killjoy? A wet blanket? A party pooper?”

The warrior’s lips curled slightly. “Indeed.”

Daniel cast an eye over Teal’c’s attire. He was wearing a white tunic with off-white pants, matching boots and a black belt.

“Who have you dressed up as, Teal’c?”

“I am Luke Skywalker.”

“Of course. I should have guessed!”

Daniel’s attention shifted to Jack, who was sporting an old pair of oversized BDU's. He was wielding a pair of BBQ tongs in one hand, and cradling a bottle of Guinness in the other.

"Umm, Jack? Isn't this supposed to be a space-themed costume party?"  
  
"Hey, I'm dressed-up..!" He spread his arms out.  
  
"...and what, pray tell, are you supposed to be?"  
  
"I'm me - Jack O'Neill." He gestured to himself with the bottle. A wave of the amber liquid spilled from the opening and sploshed onto the wooden decking. Jack mumbled a g-rated curse, then placed his beer on the ledge and scuffed his shoe across the puddle.  
  
Daniel's eyelids fluttered behind his glasses and he pushed the frame further up the bridge of his nose with his forefinger. “Umm...I'm not sure that counts, Jack…”

“I disagree, Daniel Jackson. O’Neill has been to space, has he not?”

Daniel shrugged. "Well, I guess you can't argue with that logic."  
  
"Exactly,” Jack said, clicking the tongs together.

“What has inspired your attire today, Daniel Jackson?”

Daniel popped the collar on his brown shirt and posed with his hand resting on the hip of his tan-coloured pants. A cool afternoon breeze caught the tail of his knee-length coat and it ballooned behind him.

“I’m Captain Malcolm Reynolds.”

Jack thoughtfully took in Daniel’s ensemble. "Captain, who? What company was he with?"

"No, Jack. He's a character in Firefly - it's a sci-fi series. You know, it has that guy in it that looks like Colonel Dave Dixon?"

Teal’c highbrow's rose slightly. “Have you not seen it, O’Neill?”

Jack looked from Teal’c to Daniel. "I don't watch any sci-fi, boys."  
  
Daniel frowned. “So anyway... where's the birthday boy? I haven't seen him yet."

“I am also yet to see him,” Teal’c added in agreement.  
  
Jacob went to run past Jack, but his father grabbed him by the collar and stopped him in his tracks. He placed a loving hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.  
  
"Jake, say hi to your Uncle's."

“Hi Unkey Dan, Unkey T!” The smallest O’Neill briefly embraced his surrogate uncles.  
  
“We are very appreciative of the invitation, Jacob O'Neill. Are you enjoying the festivities in honour of your 3rd birthday?”

The little boy nodded.

Daniel gave him a quick once-over. "I like your costume! What are you supposed to be?"  
  
"I'm furling!" he exclaimed.  
  
Daniel glanced over the boy's shoulder to Jack, who raised his eyebrows in response.  
  
He turned his attention back to the sandy-haired toddler. "Jakey, why didn't Daddy dress-up?"  
  
"Daddy's too-elles!" he declared.  
  
Teal’c shrugged his broad shoulders and Daniel furrowed his brow. They both looked to Jack for the toddler-to-English translation.

"He means 'O'Neill with two l's,'" came a familiar voice from behind them, "In other words, Jack took the easy way out and came as himself."  
  
"Hey, I'm dressed - still effort!" Jack hollered.  
  
"Hey Sam." Daniel greeted his friend with a hug and a chaste kiss. His gaze fell to her blossoming belly, "You look...amazing."

She moved across to the Jaffa and threw her arms around his neck.

“You look very well, Colonel Carter.”  
  
"Thanks, guys...and thanks for coming!" Releasing the ex-Prime, she went to stand by her husband. Her hand fell to the curve of her stomach.  
  
Jack gave her a quick peck and whispered into her ear, "You've never looked more beautiful.”  
  
Sam blushed. "I'm going to make the rounds."  
  
Jack nodded in acknowledgement.  
  
Sam mussed with her son's unruly hair and gently directed him towards the lawn. "Come on, scamp! Let's go talk to your guests.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Don't forget to take a loot bag on your way out! They're mainly filled with Swedish Fish and Butterfingers - they're Jake's favourites!”  
  
Daniel waited until Sam and Jake were out of earshot. "I heard that!" he teased Jack, "The cynical Air Force officer has a heart!”

“You have indeed mellowed, O'Neill.”  
  
Jack levelled the tongs at his two former charges. "...well, don't tell anyone," he looked around the yard, "I've got a reputation to uphold."  
  
Daniel and Teal'c traded a look of understanding as they watched Jack's gaze flicker to his wife's six.  
  
"I think the feline is out of the container, O'Neill."

Daniel threw a thumb towards Teal'c. “What he said.”  
  
Jack leaned towards the two men. "Have you _SEEN_ my wife lately?" he said in hushed tones. There was a sparkle in his brown eyes that neither of them had seen before. Although it was unspoken, both Daniel and Teal'c knew it was due to Jack's contentment with life.

"Yes, Jack," Daniel agreed, "You're very lucky."  
  
Jack beamed at his friends. "I know, right? Just look at how..."  
  
Daniel placed his hands over his ears and hummed loudly to block out Jack's voice. "Ewww! She's practically a sister to us! We don't want to hear the details..."  
  
Jack laughed.

Daniel cleared his throat. His eyes aimlessly scanned the party for a distraction.

“So, Teal’c..! Have you ever tried a frank?” he tilted his head towards the sausages on the grill.

“I have not." He looked at Jack. "Although, I believe I may have consumed a variant - I think it was called a pig in a blanket. What is Frank?”

A glint of mischief crossed over Jack's pupils. “Well, T...that's a difficult one to answer. The better question might be - who _was_ Frank?”

“Jack..?” Daniel sung in a concerned timbre.

Jack raised his hand to silence the scientist.

“Well, you see,” Jack began, addressing the Jaffa, “usually sausages are made from beef and pork trimmings…” he took a step towards his brawny buddy, “...but I had these especially made...”

A tiny, almost microscopic bead of sweat began to form between the creases on Teal’c’s forehead.

“To what are you referring, O’Neill?”

"The main ingredient is from a very special animal…”

Daniel’s eyes rolled in his skull and he muttered, “Oh brother.”

Jack reached behind him and captured a cooked sausage between the arms of his tongs. He brought it around and tore the end off with his teeth. He munched on the stump, his expressionless eyes never leaving Teal’c’s. Teal’c tried to remain steely, but his neck bulged as he swallowed hard.

“...a party animal. It’s made from 100% party animal.”


End file.
